Wet Paint
by almbookbuyer
Summary: Fiery Heart SPOILERS. Sydney has been broken out of re-education, but can Adrian save her from herself? (one shot)


Wet Paint

The room was cold. Both of them: the one they were in now, and the one she was remembering. Sydney was huddled against the arm of the couch, her knees touching her chin, her arms wrapped tightly around her, her eyes wide and staring -but at what, Adrian didn't know. Her face was pale and thinner than it had even been before she had started eating more.

Easels were strewn around the living room, each of them facing a slightly different direction but none of them facing Sydney. She hadn't seen any of his painting since before she was taken. She wanted to, but she wasn't going to ask. She hadn't exactly been in the mood for talking much. She'd barely spoken a word since they'd gotten her out only a little over a day ago.

The rescue wasn't easy, but it was successful. It took too long though. They all shuddered at the thought of Sydney's state when they'd found her. She was emaciated. Her hair was matted. Her eyes were completely unfocused and hypersensitive when they'd finally gotten her to go with them. They could have carried her -she was light and they'd realized they were going to have to anyway with her weakness- but Adrian had insisted on making sure she was going willingly.

She was there for two months.

Adrian was watching her from across the room. He was leaning against the wall, trying to look normal: calm and easygoing. But it was getting hard to do. He hated seeing her like this. She was shivering still, and he wanted to turn off the AC, but it sat in the window behind her, sputtering air directly on her.

She hadn't been very interested in getting too near him.

When they'd found her, he'd run to her, trying to pull her into his arms, and she'd tried to pull away.

He hadn't tried since. He didn't want her to be scared, and he wasn't sure he could take the sinking feeling of his Sydney, frightened out of common sense by his touch.

This was getting rediculous though. Adrian let his arms drop and walked over to the couch. Sydney watched him closely, her eyes widening evermore with each step he took.

He kneeled on the couch cushion beside her and his leg sunk into the leather, touching -slighty- her elbow. She pulled away and he attempted to shift to his right. This only made it worse though. His knee slid into her thigh and he heard her take in a breath. He quickly pressed _off_ on the AC and stood. He started backing toward the opposite side of the room again when she said something, almost inaudibly.

"Wait."

She hated pulling away. She hated being scared of him. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. Why was she scared?

He was looking down at her now, facing more to his spot across the room than her. His eyes were sullen.

"Adrian..." She wants to explain, but words are so hard to come by with these memories so fresh and raw in her mind. She doesn't want them to win. "I- I'm sorry." She didn't know what else to say. She hated seeing him this way, and she hated feeling this irrational fear that prevented her from fixing it.

She waited as he stared. He was waiting for her to say more.

"Can I sit?" he asked finally.

She wasn't sure. She didn't know how well she could keep her composure, but what other way is there to get rid of a fear?

_Just face this fear. Get it over with, _she thought to herself and nodded.

He sat a cushion over. They were only a foot away from each other, close enough to touch. She stared at him until he looked up at her.

"My god, Sage."

She felt her head tip to the side with confusion, a bit of dark golden hair slipping over her shoulder.

"Your eyes look so gold in this light." He was shaking his head and watching her like he couldn't believe what he saw. She blushed and looked down. He, running on instinct, reached out and touched a finger to her chin lightly, trying to lift her eyes again.

She flinched and turned her head away.

"Adrian... I just can't yet. I'm sorry."

"I won't hurt you," he begged.

"I know," Sydney tells him. She turns her head back now, having composed herself again, but Adrian notices her knuckles are white on her knees. "You understand, right?"

"Why don't you trust me then?"

"I do. It's just hard to. I mean, it's been pushed at me nonstop for... how long was I in there? Its been pushed that you're a monster. That you'll hurt me. It's like that awkward time when your a kid, and you know there's no monster under your bed, but you don't want to take any chances."

It's something to Adrian though. She knows he won't hurt her. It's those alchemists that are to blame. "Is there something I can do?"

She shook her head, breaking eye contact again.

"I want to help you." He is begging again. "Please let me."

"I don't know how you would."

He shifts closer to her, and she stands quickly, stumbling forward a few feet before giving up and kneeling next to the coffee table.

_What did they do to her in there? _Adrian thinks.

She digs for an excuse. "I, uh, haven't seen your paintings since before I left."

Left. Was taken. Adrian doesn't want to sugar coat it. He wants revenge on the people Sydney dared to call her family.

She just wants to forget.

But he stands anyway and turns the first easel. He knows it is his newest work, but he also knows Sydney likes his paintings for the art, not the symbols. She asks what it is. She doesn't try to decipher it.

The canvas is painted with splotches of gray that all fade into each other. At the bottom, resting on the edge of the canvas like a platform, is a lily. The lily, you could tell, used to be gold, but it had long died. It's yellow had darkened to a sick yellowish brown. It's stem had withered and curled, it's black surface bent at odd angles.

"Wow..." she breathed, "What does it mean?"

"God, Sydney! For someone who loves books so much, you don't get much symbolism."

"Well, those have context," she defends.

"So does this. Life. My life. _Our_ life."

She stares at it, thinking of it like this for the first time. And it makes sense.

The lily is her. She is locked in that dark room again. She is dying in that dark room. From the inside out she is dying.

She reaches out and, ever so lightly, brushed a petal of the flower.

It smudges.

It is new.

She pulls back quickly. "Sorry!"

"It's fine."

"It's new..."

He nods.

"Do you still think that? That I'm- dead?"

"I didn't think you were dead when I painted this, Sage. I thought you were gone. Mentally gone. As far gone as me maybe. I don't know. It was- I had to paint it. Get it out. Or that feeling was just going to envelope me and never let me go."

"I wouldn't let it."

He shook his head. "You were going mental when we got you here. You thought we had kidnapped you. That we were going to kill you or rape you or something."

"Why?"

He stands. "I don't know! I don't know! I wish I did! I'd _fix it _if I did!"

Sydney stood. It took a lot to keep her balance, and she didn't know how long she'd be able to. She got to him and stumbled over the long leg of the canvas. It tumbled backwards, the canvas sliding to the floor upside down.

He caught her. And she didn't pull away.

Their faces were inches away from each other now. She was staring up at him, and he down at her. None of them broke eye contact.

"Can I kiss you?"

She didn't know. She wasn't sure if that panicked feeling would come back. It's there now, but- no. It's different. She isn't fearful of him. She's fearful of this. Of this first big moment together again.

It's an exciting fear.

"I think so," she answers lamely.

He leans in a little closer, watching her for a sign she might be uncomfortable. Then a little closer, and closer, and closer.

Their lips touch, softly at first. When neither pulled away, it got fiercer. More hungry. Making up for lost time.

She didn't feel scared of him.


End file.
